There comes a time, usually once one has reached a certain level of wealth, fame and publicly sponsored indolence, when one is overwhelmed by the irresistible urge to give something back, to show some appreciation to the little people. This usually takes the form of celebrity activism, the spectrum of which ranges from Bono-esque worthiness at one end to a quickfire tweet informing your followers of your commitment to calling out injustice on the other (see Chris Brown's reaction to the deeply uncool events in Syria: #HoulaMassacre OMG!!!!! Not cool! Alas, we haven't time to discuss this particular form of internet celebrity slacktivism today. I'm opting instead for the good, old-fashioned kind, but I do feel that it should be noted that lovable scamp Justin Bieber is well known for taking time out from feasting on the brains of teenage girls while rolling a fat one to fire off the odd tweet about organ donation.)

The knowledge that fashionable ginger and grande dame of the punk movement Vivienne Westwood has switched her allegiances from the climate change movement to Virgin Atlantic has hit me harder than any previous news story ever, including the death of Princess Diana, a woman with whom three generations of women in my family are obsessed. Of course, as Diana knew painfully, accusations of hypocrisy as far as celebrity charity work is concerned are nothing new. Indeed, one could see this as a repeat of the Trudie Styler private jet brouhaha, or the time Naomi Campbell crassly demonstrated to the world that, actually, she'd rather wear fur and extremely unethical diamonds than be naked.

And yet, I had higher hopes for Vivienne, whose commitment to saving the world I felt was matched only by her talent for corsetry that make one's tits look amazing. That she is now designing uniforms for a company whose fossil fuel consumption could very well outstrip that of a small principality, possibly Wales, not to mention one whose persistently sexist advertising implies that the ability of its female staff to wear shoes and apply lipstick constitute magical superpowers, is a source of almost infinite disappointment to me.

I may be something of a naïf, but I retained some faith in the simple, kind-hearted nature of celebrities until this moment. Perhaps it was being shown a badly dubbed VHS copy of Live Aid at a young and tender age, or perhaps it was seeing Sean Penn face a heroic race against time when his Hurricane Katrina rescue boat began to sink. Or perhaps it's because I'm a Guardianista. Whatever the reason, that small spark of belief in the fundamental goodness of people has been bluntly snuffed out, only to be replaced with the pervading belief that no one in the public eye is capable of doing anything remotely philanthropic without there being a smidgeon of self-promotion among their motives. Yes, even Kim Kardashian. Even Angelina Jolie.